


The Warden

by the_diversionist



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Hawkecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diversionist/pseuds/the_diversionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethany returns to Kirkwall from the Deep Roads and finds herself at odds with the home and life that could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warden

A/N: Moving it over from ff.net since no one asked. This story is like 5 years old! I'm going to hell, blah blah blah, let's begin.

* * *

 

This isn’t her home. It never will be. It might have made her sad once but not anymore. The life of a Grey Warden has made her accept even the cruelest of things. She watches Hawke move around the estate tentatively. Bethany doesn’t know if it’s because Hawke’s unused to having her younger sister about or if life, fragile and prone to splintering has made her overly cautious. Bethany remembers Hawke telling her that Bodahn and Sandal still live in the estate—but where ever they are Bethany doesn’t see them.

“It must be strange to be back here.”

“Not really. This is no different than any other home to me.” Bethany says the words easily, perhaps carelessly, but she sees how they affect Hawke. She looks at the fireplace. “This home has more unrealized hopes than others.” Is that a better way to say it? She’s not sure. Maybe she shouldn’t have said it at all. “Do you ever get tired of it all, Sister?” Hawke looks at her. “So much has happened. Not only the Qunari uprising but the fiasco with the mages and the Knight-Commander. Then once that was taken care of there was Corypheus and then this latest matter with Tallis and the Duke.”

“It has to end some time.”

“Says who? We only live so long. But these kinds of things are just the history of the world. Maybe everything will just get worse. Maybe it only stops when we do. Not even then. Maybe that’s the only time we get a rest from it.”

Hawke smiles grimly. To think, that Bethany had once been the optimistic one.

* * *

Bethany is restless. It might have to do with the Calling. She knows her brothers and sisters in arms are in the Deep Roads battling Dark Spawn. She’s done that for near a decade now. Surely she can take a few days of rest. Surely they think the same. She paces the library of the Hawke estate and considers, however briefly, the life that she might have lived if she’d never gone into the Deep Roads. She never lets herself think on it too long, not these days—it’s too easy for it to become self-pity and bitterness. She’s done both of those and doesn’t much like either result.

Bethany browses the books and wonders how many of them Hawke has read. Bethany has always been the more voracious reader but Hawke is more discerning with what she reads, more focused. There are books from all of her old friends, Varric and Isabela, Anders and Aveline. She supposes they aren’t her friends anymore though. Hawke is family but just barely it feels like. She frowns at the thought and sets a book she has picked up on the history of the Circle back on the shelf. Hawke looks to have just exited from the bath. She’s in a robe, cinched tightly around her slim waist, strands of dark hair sloping gently over her cheeks, hanging over her eyes.

“Find anything you like?” Hawke asks moving up the steps and closer. “You’re welcome to take anything. Do you have much time for reading in the Deep Roads?”

Does Hawke want the truth? Does she want a lie? It’s strange that all these years later, Bethany feels as if she’s the one who has to protect her sister from the life she chose for her—to keep her safe. “There are more Dark Spawn than there are bookmarks and they don’t care if you’re at a really juicy part.”

“Are those the kinds of books you read these days?”

Bethany laughs. “I’ve got to get my kicks somewhere, Sister.” Not that that’s the only place she gets them. She imagines if she were to talk to Isabela about the Grey Wardens, the pirate woman would no doubt find Bethany and the lifestyle more impressive and exciting than it actually is. “There isn’t much time for reading,” she says more seriously.

“I wish it wasn’t that way.”

Her sister has always been serious and kind. Bethany knows that Hawke wishes there had been another way, something other than the Grey Wardens. Bethany doesn’t want to hammer the point. The decision was made and it will stand. She’s alive, sort of, anyway. But what has she seen? Has she seen anything beautiful come out of it? Has she seen anything other than destruction since she answered the Calling? Maybe she’s only alive for her: for Hawke who has no one left anymore. “I know. For what it’s worth…”

“No. Don’t say it. Not if it’s going to be a lie to make me feel better.”

Bethany nods slowly but Hawke’s dejected face, trying to stay pleasant, shows that she should have lied. Maker, what’s the matter with her? Why is she so cold?

* * *

Bethany leaves the Hawke estate, not wanting to be confined to a home in the little time she has away from the Deep Roads. She goes to the Viscount’s Keep. How strange that their family should have gone so far. She’d rather have kept her family: her father, her mother, that silly boy that she had loved with all her heart, Carver and Hawke… Hawke should be happier. But life isn’t about getting what you want or what you deserve.

Bethany has to get through that pesky Seneschal to see Hawke but he doesn’t make her wait too long. Ah, sometimes it’s good to be a Grey Warden. There’s hardly anyone who isn’t intimidated by her status. “You’re the Viscount now.” Bethany says once she enters the office. Hawke looks embarrassed, her cheeks taking on a tinge of red. Bethany spots the gold gleaming crown that sits on the edge of the desk. “Mother and Father would be so proud.”

“I’d rather have them than any of this,” Hawke says with a nod around the room.

“Mh.” Bethany chooses to take a seat on the desk instead of opposite of Hawke on the plush chair. She looks around the room with its many bookshelves and paintings mounted on the walls. She wonders how much of the decorating Hawke has done. She never involved herself with the little things like that—not unless it was about others. “Not everyone gets to become Viscount.”

“You know I didn’t choose this.”

There is something unspoken between them and Bethany has done what she hadn’t expected to. She’s broached the topic. “You sided with the templars and the Knight-Commander.”

“And you were with me when I sided against them in the end.”

Bethany picks up the crown, tracing her gloved fingers over the curves of the metal. She doesn’t look at her sister, ignoring her own reflection in the crown. “What were you thinking?” It isn’t an accusation. She’s genuinely curious. It isn’t how Hawke ever behaved.

“Not all mages are like you or Father. Most of them aren’t even Anders.”

Anders. He’s gone now, too. “Would you have done it if I’d been here with you?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. When you were here…”

“You could think ‘What if that were Bethany?’” She reaches forward and sets the crown on Hawke’s head, not letting go until it’s just right. “Why don’t you wear this?” But she knows Hawke, knows why she doesn’t wear it. Her fingers slide down, brushing strands of black hair, brushing along Hawke’s soft face until they fall away altogether. Hawke watches her without pulling away. “What do you do here all day?” Bethany gets off the desk. “I couldn’t stand it.”

* * *

Bethany’s in a red, clingy number when Hawke walks through the bedroom door. Hawke arches an eyebrow at her while Bethany turns first left and to the right, examining her form in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure that it’s my opinion that matters,” Hawke says. “You’ve always cut more of a figure in a dress than I have.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I assure you that I’m not.”

Bethany looks to Hawke. Her older sister has always been a bit of a tomboy, more at home playing with swords than dresses. Then again, there’s been so much of Hawke’s life that she’s missed. Maybe she’s more of a socialite than she’d ever known her to be. City life will change a person. Hawke isn’t just a girl from Lothering anymore. Now she’s the Champion of Kirkwall, the Viscount of Kirkwall. So much has changed. “Grey Wardens don’t have much need for dresses,” she runs her hands along the fabric at her sides before she pulls the dress gloves from her arms, letting one fall to the floor, before pausing, fingers slipping beneath the length of the other one.

Hawke steps closer, curious. “I remember when you wanted nothing more than this.”

Bethany smiles wryly. “I was a bit of a nuisance, wasn’t I? I can’t believe how badly I wanted to live in this home. The want for material things seems so stupid now. It isn’t about what you have. It isn’t about the things you can touch and hold. Not really. Having everything back the way it used to be, even in Uncle Gamlen’s home, would be a luxury now.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t.” Bethany shakes her head. “There’s enough that eats at us without adding regrets for so many of the things that can’t be changed.”

“You were dying, Bethany.”

“I know.” She rips the other glove away quickly as if it were a bandage. “I am dying. Still.” She catches Hawke’s eyes in the mirror. She doesn’t miss the sadness in them and how they drop away. “I’m a ray of sunshine, aren’t I?” she mutters quietly.

Hawke settles a hand on Bethany’s back. Bethany remembers when she would harden at any contact. Now, since the Deep Roads, since the eternal darkness with foul creatures and the men and women she must now consider family, she no longer flinches. She knows what it is to be pressed to your brothers and sisters in arms, to hold a lover tight in the darkness, to have death breathing on your neck. It’s only daylight that she flinches at now. It’s hard on her eyes.

“You’re allowed to be upset.”

“You’re giving me permission? I’m not that little girl who came to you crying anymore. I’m not expecting for you to fix any of this.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Hawke says. Bethany knows that it isn’t what she meant. She bites her tongue and lowers her head. She doesn’t need to treat her sister like this. “You know I don’t care about titles. I don’t give a damn what anyone in Kirkwall thinks of me or what they think I’ve achieved. I know where I’ve failed and Maker, I wish I hadn’t. I can’t help but worry over you. I can’t help but to want the best regardless. Am I asking for too much?”

She hates Hawke’s voice like this, choked up and near the point of tears. She gives a small shake of her head and feels guilty and ashamed. “No. Of course that isn’t asking for too much, Sister.”

Hawke nods once. Bethany holds her breath as Hawke delicately pulls the tab of the dress she wears down.

* * *

Bethany is looking through the cupboards for any hint of food when Hawke walks into the kitchen. Bethany spares her a quick glance but resumes her search. “I know it’s late. I didn’t mean to wake you.” As it is, she might have flung a few pots around and slammed a few cabinet doors shut in frustration.

“Are you hungry?” Hawke gives a small yawn and wipes at her eyes tiredly. “We had a large supper only hours long ago.”

“Correction: you had supper; I had a small dab of food.” The difficulty of being away from the Deep Roads and other Grey Wardens is that most people have no conception of the appetite that the Wardens harbor. What regular folks consider a lavish meal, Wardens only consider scraps. Hawke has a healthy appetite but nothing that resembles the typical amount of food Bethany is accustomed to consuming. For the past few days she has been starving. Her stomach grumbles its demand. “Isn’t there anything to eat here? Meat or…something that isn’t bread or cheese?”

“There was a piece of roast and some cakes—”

“I had those—days ago.”

“Oh.”

“I hope you weren’t saving them.” Bethany glances at Hawke who stares before giving a small shake of her head. Yes. She had been saving them. “I should have thought of this before it was the middle of the night.” She grabs the bread and cheese from the table instead, sinking her teeth into the toasted crust. “I’ll replace everything, I promise.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

Bethany knows when Hawke is only being polite. Bethany doesn’t doubt that Hawke doesn’t want her to replace the food. But despite the pleasant tone of her voice, she sees that her eyebrows have narrowed. Family doesn’t ask family to replace items like food, especially when they’re in the position to easily provide it. Bethany thanks her and eats silently.

“I can’t believe you can eat as much as you do and still keep that figure.”

“I don’t spend all my time sitting pretty, believe it or not.” She smiles. “That might be nice, though.”

“If only we could make a trade out of being pretty.”

“How daft. And lovely. Kirkwall’s not that shallow. Not yet. But it does sound like something they might do in Orlais.”

“We were almost DeLauncets’.”

Bethany laughs. “Can you imagine if Mother had married that man? I don’t think the Hawke sisters would be as renowned for their good looks as we are now.” Though she’d rather they be renowned for that than what they are. Than what she is, anyway, though she isn’t envious of the responsibility heaped on her sister’s shoulders. She stands and grabs a bottle of wine from the wine rack, pulling the cork easily. Hawke grabs two goblets but Bethany only fills one before taking a swig from the bottle. “Sorry, Sister, I’m afraid I’m not quite the lady you are.”

“You make being uncivilized look rather charming.” Hawke raises her glass to her. Bethany responds with a curtsy that elicits a smile from her. “That was fine enough to make even the snottiest Orlesian proud!”

“Bah! Orlesians!” Bethany doesn’t return to her stool, instead filling Hawke’s glass whenever she takes a drink. “I used to think Aveline was mad for not wanting to live there. Now I don’t think that I could stand it. That party with the former Duke Prosper and all those high society people was unbearable! Antiva though—that sounds exciting.”

“Don’t you get enough excitement?”

“Don’t you?”

“Point,” Hawke takes a drink. “You know, today’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in… it feels like years. Has it been?”

“No, silly thing.” Bethany grazes the back of her fingers along Hawke’s cheek. She has laughed around Hawke since she became a Grey Warden. Not often. Not even a handful of times. But she has. She might have done it more often, forced it, even, if she knew what a toll it took on her older sister. “ _You…_ need more wine.” She pours Hawke another glass and chugs down the wine bottle until she’s finished it moments later. Hawke stares at her wide-eyed. “Don’t worry about a thing, Sister; this hits you a lot harder than it does me.” She retrieves another wine bottle from the rack and opens it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had wine so early in the morning. What a bad influence you are.”

“It’s easy to be the bad influence around you, Champion of Kirkwall.” Bethany says. Hawke offers a lazy, bashful smile in response. “We always talk about me,” or at least, Hawke always sees to it that she’s properly checked in with her whenever they do have a chance to meet. “How are you?” She looks around the kitchen. “This home is too large.” Hawke runs a hand through her hair. “When you’re not standing in front of me I feel lonely.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am, too.” She covers Hawke’s hand with her own, trailing her fingers over her sister’s scar nicked flesh before her touch slips away. Hawke stares at her hand, bare of contact before glancing at Bethany. “Why aren’t you married?” Bethany asks. She drinks Hawke in more steadily than wine, her presence more intoxicating than the drink. Hawke has always been refined, no matter what her choice in clothing or weaponry. It isn’t anything that can be diminished.

“Who has time for marriage?”

“You might if you weren’t always saving Kirkwall.”

“This is our city, too.”

“It’s your city, Sister. Not mine.” She smiles warily. There she’s gone again, ruining any fun time they might have been close to having. She drinks from the bottle of wine, continuing to replenish Hawke’s every sip. “How can anyone be so good?” she asks quietly.

Hawke laughs softly and drinks, her cheeks flushing more attractively still. In the late hour of the night the kitchen feels cold. Bethany wants to touch Hawke’s face to warm her fingers. Though, she thinks absently, there are other ways to do the very same thing. She wonders if she has always been so perverted or if being a Grey Warden has made her forsake anything that made her truly human. “This, from the Grey Warden? Isabela might ask how anyone can be so stupid.”

Bethany smiles. “She always had a crush on you.”

“You always find the sweetest way to say things.”

“Did you take her to bed?” Bethany asks. Hawke laughs, stops and blushes, looking away. Bethany isn’t sure whether it means that she took her to bed or didn’t. “Have I embarrassed you?”

“I…don’t remember us ever having talks like this before.”

“I didn’t know a thing about sex then.” She’d been all of eighteen when she’d arrived in Kirkwall, only nineteen when the Grey Wardens had taken her.

“And you do now…?”

“I’m near thirty years of age, Marian. What do you think? Even the endless battle with the Dark Spawn isn’t enough to diminish all of our energy. I can’t stay your baby sister forever.”

“No. I suppose you couldn’t. I wish I hadn’t missed so much time with you.”

Bethany ducks her chin thoughtfully, chasing the lines of the kitchen island pattern. Hawke has thrived in adversity. The worse things get, the more she achieves. Bethany’s own experience has been to survive, but just barely. At least she knows where things stand with her. She can’t imagine the loneliness Hawke must experience. There are others who might envy Hawke’s life, those stupid enough to not know any better. “You didn’t need me.”

“Of course I did. How can you say that, Bethany? Maybe…” Hawke says more hesitantly, “you didn’t need me. You never sent many letters.” Bethany smiles bitter-sweetly. No, she hadn’t. “Why?”

“I was angry. I wanted to forget you. It hurt to think of you and Mother and everything else that had happened. I thought I had lost everything.” Isn’t she only waiting to die? Only fighting dark spawn until it takes her?

“So you forgot me?”

“I tried to. I’m sorry.” She watches Hawke, face lowered, eyelashes astonishingly long. It frightens her how her older sister can bear never ending sadness with such quiet grace. “I never could.”

“You don’t have to make excuses.”

“I wasn’t.” Bethany has a long drink of wine and stands from the stool, bringing the bottle with her. She sets it down on the counter and folds her arms next to Hawke, bumping her gently until Hawke grimaces. “I was jealous. I thought you had freedom. In some ways, I’ve had more than you. There’s no sense in talking about it.”

“There’s _some_ sense in it.”

“Like what? Making us both sad?” Bethany leans forward and kisses Hawke’s forehead. “Smile, Marian. It breaks my heart to see you this way.” Hawke lifts her chin but doesn’t smile. Bethany touches her face. The gesture is met without audible response. “Tallis couldn’t take her eyes off of you.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Are you blind?”

Hawke looks at her. “No.” They look at one another a long time and though Bethany feels no inclination to turn away, it’s Hawke who drops her gaze. Bethany chuckles softly and has another drink of the wine until the second bottle has been consumed. Hawke downs her glass. She stands and falls forward, catching herself on the end of the kitchen counter. “I…suppose you only feel that when you stand up.”

“Drunk, Sister?” Bethany asks. Hawke shakes her head. Bethany smiles fondly at her. She’d always wanted to have a good night where the two of them got hammered. She hadn’t expected it’d be so many years later or it would be Hawke who would be drunk under the table. “I don’t believe you.” She takes several steps away from Hawke and stretches a hand out. “Come here. If you can make it those five steps without falling over—”

“It isn’t nice to tease your older sister, Bethy.”

“Maybe not, but it’s fun.” She says with a mild smirk.

“You’re a wretch.”

“That’s my line.” Bethany says with a laugh. Hawke draws her eyebrows together, her mouth pursing in concentration. After several moments she takes one step. “Our dead grandparents could outrace you, Marian. Some Champion you are!”

“Quiet, you.”

“Faster, Marian, Faster.”

They both stop and look at one another before glancing away embarrassed. “Just shut up,” Hawke says. She looks at Bethany and takes another step forward or maybe it’s a lunge. Her foot twists from under her and Bethany is at her side instantly, catching her before she falls. Hawke clutches Bethany’s arms tightly, not noticing how deeply her fingers dig.

“Are you all right, Sister?” Bethany asks with a teasing smile. Hawke looks up at her, electric blue eyes searching. Bethany lets Hawke absorb her, trace her eyes over every inch of her. Bethany circles her arm more tightly around Hawke’s waist, pulling her close until she can discern the swell of her sister’s breasts beneath the robe she wears, and the shape of her firm thighs. Bethany imagines herself between them for an instant, jerking Hawke’s hand between her legs, her graceful, elegant fingers slipping and thrusting inside of her. Maybe it’s only her unnatural desire that makes her words shake. “Have you ever wanted anything less than perfect?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I haven’t.” Bethany says. For years when she closed her eyes all that she saw was this, was her, her Marian. Bethany’s arms slip around her waist, hands settling on her hips. Bethany pushes her to the counter. “Do you know what I think about, in the night, in the deep, in the darkness?” Hawke says nothing, though her lips move, forming the word. Bethany wishes to be that word, to be the one on her sister’s lips. “The blight has given to me and taken from me the most precious and terrible thing. My blood is not my blood anymore. Your blood is not my blood anymore.” The last words she breathes, lips against Hawke’s ear, hand slipping beneath Hawke’s robe. Hawke gasps, her name. Bethany swallows it. Hawke is _so slick, so warm_. Bethany inhales shakily. Her heart does somersaults. Hawke pushes her but even the mightiest men are no match for Bethany any longer, no one but the wardens are, Hawke’s strength is ineffectual against her. “Let me be close to you.” Bethany whispers, teeth scratching along Hawke’s neck. There’s euphoria, or something like it, lightheadedness and flushing, heavy breathing.

Hawke slaps her. Bethany lets go.

* * *

She wasn’t drunk.

Bethany plays it over and over in her mind. She ought to feel guilty but she doesn’t. She made a mistake. She shouldn’t have come to the home and pretended she could live another life. She’s a Grey Warden until the day she dies, killed either by the blight or dark spawn.

She squeezes water from the sponge, letting it drip along her arm before dropping it back into the bubble filled tub. She should enjoy this luxury while she can. Before this, when was the last time she had a bath…? She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, arching her back and sighing softly.

She perches her feet on the edge of the tub and sinks beneath the water. She opens her eyes and sees white, frothy clouds. It’s so rare to see the sun these days. To see blue skies and clouds. To see her family. She only has one relation left, despite what she said. Hawke could never look at her in any other way. Hawke has always been sensible.

Bethany hears a noise, echoing in the distance and sits up, pushing the hair back from her face. Hawke stands at the end of the tub, still in a robe, arms crossed. “We need to talk,” she says in the authoritative tone she takes on when the matter is not up for discussion.

“Mother isn’t here anymore.”

“What’s your point?”

Bethany rests her chin in her hand for a moment, looking to the gleaming sink with its polished handles. The polished everything of the home. What a perfect little life it implies. “You don’t have to watch over me or scold me. She isn’t here anymore. Whatever it is you’re worried about, don’t be. She isn’t alive to see it.”

“How dare you.”

“I’m going back to the Deep Roads tomorrow.”

Some of the anger slips from Hawke’s face. “Already?”

“I know you couldn’t bear to lose me but I’m not alive for you. I have a duty. It isn’t to you and it isn’t to me. It’s to Thedas. I’m on borrowed time and the Grey Wardens didn’t give it to me to be here. Sitting in baths. Doing the things that I do.”

“Why did you do it?”

Bethany won’t play coy. She knows perfectly well what Hawke refers to. “I wanted to. I wanted you.” She looks at her, meets her eyes. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m not.” She runs a hand through her hair and paces.

Bethany watches her. She reclines back into the tub, draping her arm along the edges. It’s always been this way between them. Bethany making a mess of things and Hawke righting them. In her youth it was her magic that made the trouble. She tried to do her best. She did. She hadn’t felt guilty before. Hawke had slapped her soundly. Now, seeing Hawke’s nervous energy, Bethany can’t help but to feel that she’s wronged her.

“Did you _think_ it’s what I wanted?” Hawke asks.

“I wasn’t thinking of what you wanted,” Bethany says. “Only of what I wanted.”

“I’m your _sister._ ”

“No, you’re the Champion of Kirkwall, the Viscount of Kirkwall. I’m a Grey Warden. Do people even know you have a sister anymore?” A very select few. Their old, inner circle, the elusive Tallis, fiends after their blood and the currently dead Duke Prosper. “I suppose there’s Uncle Gamlen. He doesn’t count.” She hasn’t seen him in years. Hawke doesn’t respond. “If you want me to say I’m sorry, I will.”

“Will you mean it?”

Bethany considers. “It won’t change what I feel. I am sorry if it upset you.” _If?_ Did the slap leave any question on the matter? “Maybe I can’t help what I want. But I’m a Grey Warden. I am disciplined. I should have taken control of myself.” _Was_ she drunk? “Maker. I am sorry.” Hawke sighs. Bethany feels the heat of her cheeks against the palm of her hand. It’s been years since she’s blushed.

Hawke exits the bathroom. Bethany remains, too embarrassed to immediately follow after.

* * *

“What’s it like in the Deep Roads?” Hawke asks. Bethany looks up from the small bag that she’s packing. Hawke is in the entrance of the guest bedroom that Bethany has been staying in. Today she returns to the darkness. She can’t say that she’s looking forward to it but she suspects she’s outstayed her welcome.

“You’ve been down there. You know what it’s like.”

“It’s been so long,” Hawke says. “The last time was…” Her voice drops, as does her gaze. She rests a hand against the frame of the door. Bethany glances back at her but returns to folding her items neatly. “This isn’t the life I wanted for you.”

“But I have a life.” That was the point, wasn’t it?

“Do you have to go back so soon? You’ve just returned. We never have enough time together.”

Bethany smiles faintly. She’s never cared for goodbyes. She had been hoping to leave early in the morning. The letter she wrote to her is already folded on the desk. “Don’t worry. I’m sure there’s another maniac on the horizon, eager to end our lives and bring us together again. That seems to be the way with us, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t want for that to be the only way with us.”

Bethany throws down a shirt into the small sack. “That’s too bad. The Hawke sisters don’t have much of a choice about the things we want. Or the things we get.” She picks up a shirt and tries to smooth the wrinkles from it before carefully setting it away.

“I want you to stay.”

“You know I can’t do that.” She picks up the bag and slings it over her shoulder. She takes a breath and goes to the door. “I’m sorry if I was stupid. Or if I hurt you. I love you, Marian.” She takes her hand. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Hawke nods. Bethany moves past her and feels a tug. The bag slips away from her shoulder. Hawke holds it, though she appears to be unaware of this until she drops it beside her feet. Bethany looks from her to the bag and back to her. Hawke takes Bethany’s shoulders and guides her back to the bed, pushing her so she sits.

“Marian, no.”

“Stop.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Bethany grows nervous. “I’ll stay,” she blurts out, “for another day or so.” But she doesn’t resist Hawke when she kisses her, she doesn’t resist Hawke when she straddles her. She doesn’t tell herself that Hawke’s knowledgeable touch isn’t enough to drive her to frenzy.

She finds herself saying so many things, in whispers and gasps and hoarse breaths.

She stops holding back altogether.

* * *

She stays longer than a day.

The mansion is cold. It’s late morning but they’ve been awake for hours, bundled in the sheets of the bed, in each other’s arms. It’s like it was when they were children—only considerably more adult in nature. Bethany keeps finding more scars on her sister. She can’t help but think that she might have helped her avoid some of them if she’d been at her side.

“Do you ever wonder how things might have gone if I hadn’t taken you to the Deep Roads?” Hawke asks. She’s trailing her fingertips along Bethany’s skin, lulling her to a lazy contentment, no matter how uncomfortable the question.

“I used to. I don’t anymore. It happened. We can’t do anything about it now.” Bethany notices Hawke’s guilty nod. She presses her lips to her forehead, to her lips, chaste becoming carnal, tapering into tender before igniting white hot again.

She’d meant for them to talk more. She had never imagined Hawke could be like this. Not convincingly, anyway. Bethany gasps, her fingernails digging into the sheets. The moans she makes are not uttered in the name of the Maker.

* * *

“I never thought you’d do something like this,” Bethany places a kiss to the inside of Hawke’s wrist.

“You make it sound as if I’ve done it on my own.” She turns on her side, resting her weight on her elbow. Bethany tries to meet her eyes. It should be easier to do now but it isn’t. Hawke takes hold of her face. Bethany gathers her breath and looks at her. “You don’t know how I’ve missed you.”

“Do you feel closer to me now?”

“Yes.”

Bethany smiles. She buries her face in Hawke’s neck and trails her hand upward along her inner thigh. She listens to her breathing. She relishes how Hawke’s pulse beats madly at the brush of her lips. Bethany slides her fingers into her. Hawke sighs softly, responding gently to the rhythm Bethany sets for her. Bethany moves closer and pulls Hawke’s hand to her. Hawke doesn’t need encouragement. “I feel closer to you, too,” she says with a small grin, ripples of pleasure coursing through her.

It’s adorable that she can make Hawke flush at the smallest of things.

* * *

“What do you think this is?” Hawke asks.

“Spooning?” Bethany suggests. She knows it isn’t the answer Hawke is looking for. She draws Hawke closer to her and rests her chin in the crook of her shoulder, enjoying her body heat and dreading that she can’t stay much longer. She exhales softly. Hawke laces their hands. Her fingers hold too tightly but Bethany doesn’t mind.

“Is it bad to talk about?”

Bethany shifts so that she’s over her, hands carefully locked around Hawke’s wrists, looking down at her. Their playfulness of before has gone. “We tell ourselves that we matter less than the greater good and that we’ve lost everything. But we both know there’s one more thing we can lose and it terrifies us. We’re sad and we want to be close, while we can be close. There’s no one to tell us we can’t be. There are no guarantees in life, Sister.”

“Bethany…” Hawke pulls her down into her arms.

* * *

The sun is out again the day she’s set to leave. Sunlight streams in through the kitchen windows, burning Bethany’s eyes. Or maybe they sting for other reasons. She drinks her tea slowly. Hawke is in the kitchen not too long after and Bethany pours her a cup, setting it carefully in a saucer and on the table.

“You’re in your Grey Warden regalia,” Hawke says.

“It scares the dark spawn,” she smiles dryly. “Look. I know you have a lot of things to do. You’re the Viscount. So… I’ll likely leave while you’re up at the Keep. It’s better to get a head start in the daylight. If I time it right I might catch a group of wardens from the Anderfels who are planning a trip in.”

“Oh. I see.”

Bethany fixates on her cup. “I really hate goodbyes,” she says, her voice thickening. She allows some moments, forcing the emotion away. “It’s hard to always have to leave you. I never know…”

“It’s okay, Bethany.” Hawke looks at the cup of tea but doesn’t sit down. “I know I’m keeping you from your duties. I do wish I could keep you,” she says with a wry smile. Bethany returns it palely. Hawke moves to her, takes her face in her hands. “I love you. I’m proud of you. Never forget that, no matter what happens to either of us.”

“I won’t,” Bethany says hoarsely.

There’s a tense moment, a bridge that is ready to be burned with Bethany unsure of which path it is that Hawke is ready to strike away. Hawke kisses her softly and the matter is decided. Bethany responds, clinging to her. Minutes later they say goodbye and part ways. Neither woman cries.

Bethany is heartened by Hawke’s decision, even if it is practically invalidated already. Perhaps they won’t see each other for years, if ever again. But if they do… Bethany stops and looks back at the Viscount’s Keep and says goodbye to Kirkwall, her sister’s city.

She turns her eyes away and forward. The Deep Roads await.

 


End file.
